MY CHILDHOOD WAS NOT ASTOUNDINGLY OR EXCEPTIONALLY
DIFFERENT THAN THE NORM
BUT I LIVED AS A CHILD
AND CHILDREN ARE EXTRAORDINARY
HARBOR YOUR JUVENESCENCE
🚲
MY CHILDHOOD WAS NOT ASTOUNDINGLY OR EXCEPTIONALLY
DIFFERENT THAN THE NORM
BUT I LIVED AS A CHILD
AND CHILDREN ARE EXTRAORDINARY
HARBOR YOUR JUVENESCENCE
🚲
We are here
together,
at the happiest place on Earth.
I am lying next to you,
holding your hand in the dark
while our girls dream
beside us.
The appointment is next week,
when we get home.
But for now,
we are here,
together.
You watch the parade,
I watch you struggle to swallow.
You watch the fireworks,
I watch you cry.
We sail in airborne ships,
ride flying carpets,
Spin around in dizzy teacups,
throw penny wishes in fountains.
I gather pixie dust
in my pockets to
hold onto the magic.
I won’t let (you) it die.
She lifts dishes from the sink-water one-by-one,
clutching them the way she holds books,
washes fronts-backs like poring over scripted pages,
warming and uncovering ceramic stories.
Turning again to legendary washing,
she reveals new chapters one-by-one, with
coverings now stacked, dry, ready to envelop
tasty works and the sweet stains of treasured chronicles.
The Room
Musky mahogany furniture shows its years.
An old box spring on the bed has a scent
of mildew, but a pleasant scent.
The mattress is a bit lumpy from many
nights of dreaming,
yet still quite comfortable.
On the bureau is a faint gray ring from
where the wash basin once sat.
The mirror above is distorted with a brown tint.
The window lets in beams of the early morning sun
which glistens off of the near motionless dust.
A slight breeze gently moves through the window
where it’s opened a crack, moving the yellowed curtains . . .
But nothing breathes in this room,
‘cause old man Olson lies cold in his bed.
Tom Bradley 1976
The elephants would meet at their watering hole their usual time of day
And as usual they were excited about what each had to say.
One would talk about the terribly hot weather
While another said how much he loved getting together.
Some spoke about the animals they passed on their way in.
While some just listened quietly with a worried grin.
The talk continued for an hour or so.
Since being elephants, they had no where to go.
As their meeting came close to its end.
Each elephant would shake trunks with his friend.
They nodded to each other, and all did agree.
Never tell another elephant joke, not even for a fee.
I plea to you – PLEASE make peace with your maker or your God as you see It to be. PLEASE do your best to love your family members and the others that are close to you, as much as possible. PLEASE trust those important to you and build trust with them. Follow the Golden Rule – truly “doing unto others as you would have them do unto you.” PLEASE take care of your physical and mental health. Work hard when you can and you are able to. PLEASE never stop dreaming lofty dreams, welcoming visions as they come. Never stop learning; be it through formal education or even reading something that strikes you as interesting. But PLEASE don’t just gather knowledge, apply it to your life – using it in your thoughts and actions. Express yourself: be it thru the arts; letting your voice be heard on issues. And appreciate the present moment, not forgetting to plan for your future. Use your time wisely, but don’t be too hard on yourself.
But PLEASE most of all, stay true to yourself – stay golden. When you do fall, forgive yourself and get right back up…
(Written circa 2015)
I do not carry you in the way I used to.
Not in my voice, not in my choices,
not in the quiet moments where I once questioned my worth.
What I carry now is different.
I carry the strength it took to leave,
the courage it took to see the truth and not look away.
I carry the version of me who stayed too long
not with shame, but with understanding.
She was trying to survive
with what she knew then.
And I honor her for that.
But I am not her anymore.
I am someone
who listens to her instincts,
who trusts the feeling
in her chest that says
this is not right.
I am someone who chooses peace
over confusion, who chooses herself
without hesitation.
There is no anger here that owns me,
no past that defines me.
Only a quiet, steady knowing:
I am still here.
I am still whole.
And I am mine again.
The red highlights in her hair
catch the sunset splashing
in golden amber tones.
A plaid poncho she wears
streams behind her in the breeze,
pulling at her neck in liberation
attempts.
Her feet make imprints in the sand
where the tide rolls in,
lasting longer in spots where she
paused
to place a piece of wampum
or beach glass
in the wool folds of her cape.
She sees faces in the knots
of driftwood,
vitality in the shipwrecked
starfish,
shapes in sea polished rocks.
As I watch from a distance
I remember her pattern
of walking,
seeking,
saving,
continuing.
Her movements become
predictable,
as consistent as
signals from a lighthouse
beckoning lost ships
to harbor.
The Beachcomber is the
bright light
that guides her loved ones
home.
First Tulip
A hint of yellow runs
upward like a seam,
promises to rent
the tight fabric bud
of thick verdant protection
against spring’s fickle days
and chilly nights.
Soon, petals that glow
like noontime sunshine
will unfold upward,
open to cup a star
of six jet-black pistils
surrounding the white-gold
gift of stamen.
Beauty Scorned
and Labeled Wrong
The Dandelion Known as a Weed
Its grounded rosette base
Produce basil leaves of taste
And its florets are of beauty indeed.
—t.f.b.